Page 28 of The Truth About Dukes
“Perfect. Miss Helen?” She’d been such a sad, quiet young lady. Even at meals, she’d had an air of alone-ness.
“Married to Alexander. I gave her my violin, and she became very proficient. She teaches music at the same school. They have a pair of boys, both rambunctious, both saddled with the middle name Robert.”
Rothhaven was quietly pleased to report that, very quietly, very pleased. As he rattled off the whereabouts and professions of the three remaining residents Constance had known, she realized that Rothhaven had done what few people ever do—made dreams come true for others.
“I want to shake the blossoms from every tree in this orchard and dance for joy,” she said. “I want to shout my delight to the heavens. This is better than I could have dreamed of, a triumph for the ages.”
“It’s a half dozen people finding the lives that should never have been taken from them, Constance, but thank you. Nathaniel was very much the duke when he and I were reunited, and I was very much…not myself. I needed a project, he needed time to accommodate the notion that I was yet alive. When I had everybody settled, I realized I had yet to settleme, and thus I began my work in the garden.”
This conversation was extraordinary for so many reasons, not the least of which was the sheer gladness Rothhaven’s news brought Constance. The lot of Soames’s patients were all safe and sound, all reasonably happy. The families who’d tried to wash their hands of inconvenient relatives, the villages relieved to see a difficult person “sent off for a respite” hadn’t had the last word.
Not at all.
Rothhaven brushed a few plum blossoms from her shoulders, once again giving her that bemused, contemplative look he’d turned on her previously.
“Do you recall how you felt when you found that cheese wrapped in linen among your weekly allotment of clean bedding?” she asked.
The last few petals clinging to her shoulders, he blew away. “I was intoxicated with hope, with glee, with the certain knowledge that somebody saw my circumstances and was outraged enough on my behalf to take action. The power of that, of being seen and cared for by a person with the courageto act, made all the difference in the world.”
She took him by the lapels. “That’s how I feel when I’m with you, Rothhaven. Seen, cared for, by somebody with great courage and integrity. I am full of good, powerful feelings. May I kiss you?”
“No,” he said, his lips quirking. “I have earned the right to kiss you first.” He brushed his mouth over hers, and even in his kiss, Constance tasted joy and sweetness and—yes,thatwas the word—tenderness.
Chapter Seven
Robert had spent years longing to return home, imagining that beautiful day, and conjuring explanations to excuse his father’s betrayal. In his mind’s eye, he’d seen the ducal coach-and-four pulling up to the front door of Rothhaven Hall, the servants lined up to welcome him home. His parents would stand at the top of the terrace steps, beaming proudly and a little awkwardly, for they would have much explaining to do.
He’d seen himself as the wronged party, welcomed home with open arms.
He’d eventually replaced that fantasy with a return of the conquering hero, victor over many tribulations and injustices, worthy of the title awaiting him. For in that version of events, the old duke had died, and very likely been sent to perdition for treating his firstborn so disgracefully.
In reality, Robert had little memory of his exodus from captivity. At his own request, he’d been dosed with laudanum, the better to fortify him for the ordeal of leaving the premises. By then, fear of the out-of-doors, of being touched, of varying his routine had all held him in a powerful grip.
He’d insisted on a night journey, lest the sight of the open sky relieve him of his remaining wits. Nathaniel had half carried him into the Hall under cover of darkness, and Robert had hidden in his rooms for months thereafter.
Standing in the orchard with Constance, watching her eyes light with rejoicing over confidences Robert had never shared with even his own brother, all the imaginings and daydreams about returning to the Hall faded away.
Those dreams had served their purpose, and now that Constance had taken Robert by the lapels and asked to kiss him, those dreams would never be needed again.
He touched his lips to hers, his heart full of reverence for the moment, so unlikely and perfect, for this washomecoming. This was reunification with a past he was proud of, and a foundation for a future shared with someone he cared for deeply.
Constance Wentworth, of all the women in all the world, had seen him at his worst and taken his part. She’d grasped how to survive against long odds, and better still, how to not simply endure, but to triumph.
He kissed her with all the gratitude in him, all the passion channeled so carefully into learning and self-control, and, may the Deity hold her forever in heaven’s most benevolent light, she kissed him back with equal fervor.
“Purple and orange,” she murmured against his mouth, “with bright greens, like the tropics. Exotic, brilliant, delicious…”
“Silk and flannel,” he replied, “softness and warmth, precious spices and mountains of pillows.”
She drew away half an inch, smiling like a houri. “Pillows, Rothhaven? Shall I paint you as a pasha?”
He rested his forehead against hers. “I’m not describing a painting, Constance.”
She drew back farther, her brows knit. “You want me.” She stroked a hand over his falls, as bold as polished brass. “Youdesireme.”
For the rest of my life.“You don’t seem surprised.” Or shocked or horrified. That terrible childhood had taught her much of value.
“Intrigued.”
